A Day Late and a Bride Short

by Jacobs, Holly

  “That’s nice of Donovan.” Darn. There were so many nice things about Donovan. Her mental list was rapidly going from full to overflowing.

  Despite his messy office, he kept his home neat. He was a wonderful cook. He pitched in and helped with the cleanup. He was nice to old ladies. She’d never seen him kick a dog.

  She almost wished he would. It would give her some reason to stay emotionally distant. If he were truly the Iceman, it would be easy to ignore the twinges of...well, whatever it was she was feeling toward him.

  No, he wasn’t the Iceman at all—he was sweet. She smiled as she thought about the description and how he’d react to hearing it. He wouldn’t like it at all. Since that night he’d kissed her, he hadn’t made any more physical moves in her direction. That was definitely sweet and nice.

  Darned nice, she thought as she let the tape measure thwap back full speed.

  Yeah. She was overjoyed he hadn’t so much as grazed elbows with her since that night. They came home at night ate dinner together, shared bits and pieces of their day and then most nights they worked and watched a television show together in chairs, separate and not touching.

  Which is just what Sarah wanted. She assured herself of that fact a hundred times a day.

  “You know,” Amelia said, “Donovan’s been different since you two got engaged. He’s...I don’t know, more open. You’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you. You smile more.”

  Sarah stood up and maneuvered the ladder closer to a doorway. She wanted to measure the transom above the door. The small window had a crack in its glass. She wanted to see if she could replace it

  She’d spent so many hours planning this reception area and wanted everything perfect, including the glass. It was antique and had a lovely wavy quality to it. She knew a guy who might be able to find an antique replacement.

  She climbed up toward the top so she could reach the glass.

  “Hey, good-looking. Need a hand?” She looked down at Larry Mackenzie, a colleague of Donovan’s she knew went by Mac and who’d generously offered to bring her back some lunch.

  He hadn’t been quite so generous with Amelia. As a matter of fact, his offer had been quite grudgingly made, and even more grudgingly accepted. When Sarah asked Amelia what was up, the normally gregarious receptionist had been strangely silent on the matter.

  Sarah planned on finding out more later. For right now, she’d settle for her tacos.

  Sarah looked down at the sandy-haired man who stood at the base of the ladder. “Thanks, but I’ve got everything under control.”

  “Well, hurry up, lunch is getting cold.”

  “Just give me a minute,” she said.

  “What she’s saying, Mackenzie, is go crawl back under your rock,” Amelia said, in a very un-Amelia- like tone. “That is, after you hand over our lunch.”

  “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart,” Mac, ignoring Amelia, said to Sarah. “How about you dump that Donovan character you’ve hooked up with, and let me show you what a real man can offer you?”

  “And who would that real man be, Mac?” Amelia asked sweetly. “Other than tacos, I haven’t seen evidence that you have anything at all to offer a woman.”

  “Besides, where would you find a better man than Donovan?” Sarah asked saucily from the top rung of the ladder.

  “You’re looking at him,” Mac said.

  Amelia snorted.

  Sarah grinned at the man, realizing this was more for Amelia’s benefit than hers. “Oh, Mr. Mackenzie—”

  “Mac,” he corrected.

  “Mac,” she said obligingly as she double-checked the glass size. ‘‘You are definitely a real man, but I’m afraid Donovan got to me first. But if I’m ever available, I’ll be sure to look you up.”

  “That’s the way of the world. You use a man for his tacos, then dash the rest of his hopes to the ground.”

  Mac held one of the bags out in front of him. “I guess I’ll just have to satisfy myself with a delicious chicken soft taco. They’ve always been my favorites, no matter what their current incarnation. There have been so many changes over the years, but I feel as if I’ve changed with them. Matured, if you will. Why, once upon a time, a rejection like yours would have floored me.”

  “Really?” Sarah laughed at his melodramatic production.

  “Ode to the taco...yeah, that’s about your speed, Larry,” Amelia grumbled.

  “Mac,” he corrected.

  Sarah started to climb down from the ladder and he held out a hand. “Here, allow me at least to save you from falling. If I can’t win your heart, I’ll just satisfy myself with saving your neck. It is such a lovely one, after all.”

  “Oh, brother,” Amelia groaned.

  Sarah was just reaching for Mac’s hand when Donovan practically barked, “What are you doing?”

  “Hi, honey,” Sarah said, proud she’d remembered to use an endearment in front of his colleagues. She watched her fake fiancé rush down the stairs. “I was just measuring this glass and getting ready for a lunch break.”

  She’d asked him about having lunch together today, just as a means of reinforcing their charade to his colleagues, she’d assured herself. But he’d had an appointment, he’d said. Hence her acceptance of Mac’s taco run.

  “Speaking of breaking, do you want to break your neck?” Donovan yelled. “Get off the ladder, Sarah.”

  “I was here to catch her if she fell, Donovan,” Mac said, his hand still extended.

  “The taco-lover was trying to pick her up,” Amelia grumbled.

  “Just offering a helping hand,” Mac said.

  Donovan’s face darkened. “Keep your hands off my fiancé.”

  “Why Donovan, that almost sounded like jealousy,” Mac said, obviously unaware of Donovan’s mounting annoyance. “The Iceman jealous? We might have to reassess your nickname.”

  “I’m all for helping you reassess. Let’s start with the habit you have of flirting with the wrong women.” Donovan elbowed Mac out of the way, and offered his hand to Sarah.

  “Never the wrong ones. I only pick the oh-so-right ones, and your fiancée definitely qualifies except for her one small case of bad judgment in picking you over me.”

  “Sarah, come down,” Donovan said.

  Sarah ignored his extended hand and started down the ladder. “Don’t speak to me as if I’m some lowly underling you can order about. I’m perfectly capable of climbing a ladder.”

  “It’s not the climbing that scares me, it’s the falling.’’ His hand was now resting on her back, bracing her against the ladder so she could barely climb the rungs, much less fall.

  “I’m a big girl, Donovan,’’ she said. What was with his me-Tarzan, you-Jane routine?

  Because it had to be a routine. Just another facet to their ongoing charade. Donovan wasn’t really jealous, although he was sounding as if he were. But he was just giving an award-winning performance. She could almost believe he was jealous.

  Sarah finally had both feet firmly on the floor and turned to face Donovan. “I’ve been climbing ladders for years, and I was quite capable of dealing with this one.”

  “You’re my fiancée, and it’s my job to protect you.”

  “Protect me? Is that what you call it?” He might be acting, but she wasn’t. This new caveman routine was annoying.

  “Yes. What would you call it?” he asked.

  “Being an overbearing jack—”

  “Uh, uh, uh,” Mac said. “I see my work is done, chaos is restored. I think I’ll just leave your tacos here and go eat my scrumptious chicken soft taco in the quiet refuge of my own office. There I’ll contemplate how all of life is represented in its soft flour shell and perfectly seasoned chicken and—”

  “Oh, go soak your head, Larry,” Amelia said.

  “Come with me,’’ Donovan said, pulling Sarah along after him up the stairs and toward his office.

  “Stop manhandling me.’’

  “We need to talk,’ he said.�
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  “I’ll say we do. But not until I’ve eaten.” She grabbed at the bag. “I’m starving, and you need to settle down. I’m having lunch with Amelia and you? Well, you can—”

  “Fine. I have an appointment anyway,” he interrupted. “We’ll talk tonight.”

  “Fine,” she said.

  “And Sarah,” he said softly—too softly.

  “What?” she asked, aware of the fact Amelia was hanging on their every word.

  “Stay away from Mac.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do,” she said, wishing she hadn’t. She sounded like she was still in school.

  “I’m your fiancé, and I’ll be your husband soon, so I have every right. You’re not allowed to encourage other men.”

  “According to your definition, sharing tacos with a man constitutes encouraging?”

  “It wasn’t just tacos, he was flirting with you.”

  “To make Amelia jealous,” Sarah said.

  “Me?” Amelia squeaked. “Mac would never try to make me jealous. Crazy maybe, but not jealous.”

  Donovan laughed and talked right over Amelia saying, “You’ve got to be joking. Those two can’t stand each other.”

  “See?” Amelia said. “Even Donovan knows we can’t stand each other. There’s no way Mac would try to make me jealous by flirting with you.”

  ‘‘That’s what Mac wants you to think—that he doesn’t like you. I think he’s stuck in the playground mentality and trying to make you jealous because he does like you...a lot.”

  “Just stay away from him,” Donovan said to Sarah. “If you want tacos, I’ll buy you tacos. Hell, I’ll make you tacos and once you’ve had my tacos you’ll never want any other man’s.”

  There was a suggestive lilt in his voice and she realized they weren’t just talking about tacos.

  “According to our agreement, I’m not going to have your tacos...ever.”

  “Maybe you could if you asked,” he said.

  “But I won’t. I don’t want your tacos and I never will.” Okay, maybe that was a little lie. Donovan’s tacos would be divine, she was sure.

  “Donovan, you don’t own me, and you can’t boss me around,” she said flatly. “And you can keep your tacos to yourself.”

  “We’ll just see about that,” he muttered.

  “Yeah. We will.”

  He stormed up the stairs, and Sarah could hear him continue to mutter about tacos the entire way.

  “Come on. Let’s go find a quiet park bench and eat our tacos and you can explain what that was all about,” Amelia said, practically pulling Sarah toward the door.

  “You can’t just leave your desk.” She didn’t want to explain anything to Amelia because she didn’t understand any of it herself.

  Tacos?

  “It’s lunch. There are no appointments for the next hour. Come on.”

  They crossed the street, Amelia still pulling Sarah with one hand and holding the taco bag with the other. She nodded at the first bench they came to. “Talk,” she demanded.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. We just had a little lover’s spat. He was jealous of Mac.”

  “It was more than that. What was all that taco talk about?” Amelia asked.

  “Our lunch.”

  “Come on, Sarah, I thought we were friends, or at least at the cusp of being friends. We shared lunches, we shared stories, but you didn’t share dating Donovan with me. But I understood that I mean, he’s a private man, and if he asked you to keep it quiet, I couldn’t blame you. But there’s something going on here. I’m not stupid.”

  Sarah weighed how much she could say without breaking the terms of her agreement with Donovan. “We’re having some problems working out exactly what our relationship is. Obviously he sees it as a dictatorship with him as the head-honcho. And I see it as a partnership, one that should be built on trust. How could he think I’d ever look at Larry Mackenzie? Oh, he’s a nice enough man—”

  Amelia scoffed, “Ha!”

  “He is. But he’s not Donovan.” Sarah tore open a taco and took a bite.

  “Boy, you’ve got it bad,” Amelia said, following suit

  “Got what?” Sarah asked.

  “Love. You’re head-over-heels in love with him.”

  Sarah choked on a piece of lettuce. Love?

  Yeah, right. But she couldn’t say that to Amelia, so she settled for, “Maybe what’s wrong, what’s truly wrong, is I’m not sure how he feels about me.”

  “Oh, come on, Sarah, any fool with eyes can see how he feels. Do you think he’d come rushing in like that if he didn’t care?”

  “Maybe he was just protecting his interest.”

  “Or maybe he’s as head over heels for you as you are for him,” Amelia said. “To be honest, in my opinion, there’s no maybe about it.”

  Head over heels?

  Is that what she was?

  Head over heels for Elias Donovan?

  Sarah wasn’t sure. As a matter of fact she hadn’t felt sure about anything since this entire situation started. One minute, she’d been trying to build a business, and then next she was engaged to be married to a man who didn’t love her. A man she didn’t love. Maybe.

  She wasn’t sure. Not loving Donovan? The sentence felt wrong. As a matter of fact it felt distinctly wrong.

  Love?

  She couldn’t be in love with Donovan, could she?

  After all, they hadn’t known each other long enough.

  “Sarah?” Amelia asked softly.

  “What?”

  “You do love Donovan, don’t you?”

  Love. Did she love him? Her head said no, but her heart cried out an entirely different answer. There wasn’t even a fight. Her heart won out.

  “Yes,” Sarah said, her voice barely a whisper. “I guess I do. Loving Donovan changes everything.”

  “Yeah, love does that.”

  Sarah Jane Madison loved Elias Augustus Donovan, the man she was engaged to marry.

  And loving him changed everything.

  Chapter Nine

  “SARAH?” DONOVAN called as he opened the door that evening.

  Sarah knew he’d be home, but she hadn’t thought it would be so soon.

  She turned from the sauce she’d been stirring. “Dinner’s almost done.”

  “You’re cooking?”

  “Yes.” She’d wanted—no, needed—to do something. This was all she could think of. “I know you’ve done most of it, but I can cook. As a matter of fact, my spaghetti sauce generally garners all kinds of compliments.”

  “It smells good,” he said.

  There was an awkward silence that enveloped the kitchen. Sarah turned back to stirring her sauce. Stirring was easier than facing Donovan. She knew what she had to do, and she knew why she had to do it, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. As a matter of fact she was pretty sure she was breaking her own heart.

  “Why don’t you go change?’’ Sarah said without turning around and looking at him.

  “Fine.’’ She heard the heels of his shoes tap against the tile floor, then stop. “Sarah?’’

  “Yes?” She studied the sauce, wondering if she’d put too much parsley in it. It had an awful lot of green flakes.

  “I need to apologize about today,” Donovan said.

  “No, you don’t but we do need to talk.” All those green flakes, she mused.

  She was bound to get one stuck in her teeth. She had this dinner totally planned out and didn’t think green teeth would enhance any of her plans.

  She didn’t have to turn around to know he was still standing there, waiting expectantly. It was easier to worry about parsley than Donovan.

  “All right,” he finally said. “Let’s talk.”

  “No. Not now. Later.” She was giving them both one last dinner, then she’d do what had to be done. She’d do it because she loved him. “Go change, then we’ll eat, and after that we’ll talk.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

&nbs
p; “It’s what I want.”

  What she wanted? That was a lie. None of this was what she wanted. What she needed? Maybe. But what she wanted was...

  No, she wasn’t going to think about her fantasies. They were just that, flights of imagination that had no bearing whatsoever on the real world.

  She’d planned this meal with as much care as Donovan had planned their engagement meal.

  Oh, she wasn’t taking him on a romantic dinner cruise, but she’d made a lovely meal, opened a bottle of wine, and planned to eat on the deck. She wanted the end of their relationship to be as pleasant as the beginning. Maybe that was odd, but there it was.

  By the time he’d showered and changed, she had the table set and was just taking the spaghetti out. The wine was chilled, and her heart was as well. But she welcomed the icy quiet of her heart. When the numbness wore off, she knew she’d be in a world of pain.

  “About today,” Donovan said, after he’d slid into his chair.

  “No,” she said. She knew what had to be done, but she was going to put it off for as long as she could. “Try my spaghetti first.”

  She served him and waited. He took the first bite and said, “You’re right you make a mean sauce. That’s delicious.”

  “I add wine to the sauce. It helps.” Such a mundane thing to say. What she wanted to say, to shout was I love you, you fool. I want to marry you in the truest sense of the word. I want to live with you and love you for the rest of my life.

  But he didn’t feel that way. To him marrying her was just business. She couldn’t go through with a marriage-of-convenience, because loving him would make that type of marriage not just inconvenient, but painful. She’d rather break her own heart tonight, just this once, rather than break it day after day. And that’s what would happen if she lived with a man who didn’t share her feelings.

  He was still eating her spaghetti, unaware of her inner turmoil.

  “And did you make the meatballs?’’ he asked as he finished another bite.

  “Yep. The entire thing is from scratch.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m glad.” It was as if they’d used up all their small talk. They both made a show of eating their meal, though it tasted like sawdust in her mouth.